Page 31 of Shortcake
Heart ramming against my ribcage, I gasped for air, out of breath like I’d just run a 10k.
The fire was out… for now. But I had no idea what the hell caused it. And I’d seen enough documentaries to know that sometimes a flame can reignite, especially in an electrical fire situation.
I wasted no time. I grabbed my phone, laptop, purse, and of course, Eleanor.
Then, pausing for just the quickest second, lump in my throat, and for a reason I couldn’t really explain, I grabbed Dad’s wedding invitation and shoved it into my laptop bag before hightailing it out of that apartment, dialing 9-1-1 as I shut the door behind me.
Outside in the driveway, I leaned against the moving truck as I relayed to dispatch what little I knew had happened.
“Okay, ma’am, fire trucks are on the way,” the dispatcher told me in return.
Exhaling a long, low breath, I looked at the main house. Formerly Higgins’s house. Then, with a glance at Eleanor, I lifted my brow as she chomped on her romaine, blissfully unaware of how close we’d both been to death.
“Not exactly the best way to meet your new landlord, is it?” I asked.
Chomp, chomp.
“My thoughts, too. Lucky for you, I was home this morning. You’d have been toast.Burnttoast.”
I shuddered at the thought and rubbed my index finger over the top of her head through the bars of the cage.
Chomp, chomp.
“Well,” I sighed. “Come on. Better this news comes from me before they hear the fire trucks, right?”
Chomp, chomp.
“Right.”
I probably looked like a crazy lady standing there on the front stoop in pajamas, ringing the doorbell with my purse flung over my shoulder, laptop bag tucked under my arm, and carrying a caged hedgehog in my free hand. I looked down and chuckled, realizing I still clutched my coffee mug in my left hand. In the craziness and panic of getting out of the apartment, I must have grabbed it, too.
I took a sip, swallowing the strong, black brew. Well, at least I had coffee while I waited to find out if my stuff was going to up in a fiery inferno, even if it was lukewarm. Subconsciously, I guess I had my priorities straight.
The front door swung open and I was greeted by Warren Lansmere, my high school nemesis turned friend, dressed fully in his deputy uniform. “Warren?” I asked, unable to help my surprised laugh.
“Addy, what’s up?”
I blinked and looked up at the two-story, three-bedroom home, confused. “Youbought this house from ol’ man Higgins?”
How in the hell did he manage that? He was only a year older than me. I mean, sure, he made a good salary as deputy sheriff, but he wasn’t making bank, to my knowledge. He probably made the same as our local elementary school teachers, which was admittedly, still more than I made. Especially now as a new business owner in the community.
But hopefully all that would change. I had a three-year plan.
Warren laughed, his warm brown eyes crinkling. “Me? No, no. I was lucky enough to buy that two-bedroom apartment over the candy shop. It was half the price of this place.”
Oh. Okay, that made sense. Or rather, more sense. It still didn’t explain what the hell he was doing here at eight in the morning.
His gaze swept down my body and landed on my weird eclectic belongings and poodle pajama shorts. “Everything okay?”
“Um… not really. There was a fire in my apartment. Is the new owner home?”
“Fire?” Warren jumped into action and rushed toward me, placing his hands on my arms and inspecting me to see if I was okay. “Meyer!” he shouted. “Get out here, now!”
Oh, God. Oh, no. Did he just say the name I thought he said? I was putting two and two together. Warren, the deputy sheriff. Here so early. “Um, did you say Meyer?”
Not hearing me, or maybe just flat out ignoring my question, he trailed his hands up my arms to cup my jaw and looked into my eyes. “Are you okay? Are you hurt? Follow my finger.”
“I’m fine—”
